


Paint It Red

by karuvapatta



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Victorian, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-21 13:03:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17044250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karuvapatta/pseuds/karuvapatta
Summary: When a rich, French nobleman gave her a job, Nathalie wasn't going to ask too many questions. Perhaps she should have.





	Paint It Red

Once the painting was unveiled, there was a collective gasp from the crowd. Nathalie remained straight-backed and stone-faced, letting them express their admiration.

It was, indeed, gorgeous work. One of her master’s best. Come nightfall, it would look even better – Master did his painting at night-time, surrounded by gas lamps and candlelight. The colours were never exactly right in daylight; but Gabriel Agreste was the height of fashion among the London aristocracy and no one would dare criticize him out loud.

Nathalie stood guard, answered questions, memorized names and offers. To those who demanded to see Lord Agreste in person, she had an arsenal of excuses. Besides, there was always feigned ignorance to fall back on – she was a woman of no social status and questionable lineage. It was beneath Audrey Bourgeois to argue with her in front of her esteemed guests.

Once the party came to an end, Nathalie’s feet hurt and her throat was parched. The moment she stepped outside, however, damp fog soaked through her heavy dress and she began to shiver.

She loathed this city. It never got _dry_. Her boots were soaked, too, and she could barely see where she was going. Street lamps beaconed her with their yellow light, but they could do little before the fog swallowed them as well. At this rate, she might fall into the river and not even notice it had happened.

She should have taken a carriage.

No sound gave them away, but Nathalie felt it nonetheless; her muscles tensed through some primal instinct, her gaze sharpened. She kept her steps even and curled a hand around the handle of a knife she kept in the folds of her dress.

She _definitely_ should have taken a carriage.

The fog swallowed sights and sounds. Besides, even if she screamed, no one would help her. The lucky Londoners kept to the warmth and comfort of their homes. The unlucky ones had their own problems to handle.

Footsteps came from behind her, or maybe from the side. It was impossible to tell. Nathalie paused where she stood. Stupid— _stupid_ woman—

“Hullo, miss,” came a voice, ringing with cruel amusement. She smelled cheap alcohol, tobacco smoke, unwashed body, dirty clothes. “Now what’s a pretty lady doin’ out so late?”

An excellent question.

Nathalie backed away a step, onto uneven cobblestone. Mud squelched around her boots as she moved – maybe these bastards would slip and break their necks while falling—

Someone grabbed her from behind. Nathalie elbowed them in the stomach before her higher brain functions registered what was happening, and then crushed the reinforced heel of her boot into their foot. They grunted and doubled over, but did not loosen the grip on her waist. The other man was approaching her, his face coming to view in the sickly yellow glow of the streetlamp.

He smiled. Nathalie seized her knife.

She didn’t know what happened next. The man was yanked to the side and then disappeared into the fog. There was a short yelp, cut off abruptly, and then a thud.

“What—”

The other man screamed into her ear and let go. Nathalie stumbled forward but was unable to keep herself standing straight on shaky legs. As she slipped on the mud pile, she heard an odd swooshing sound.

And then silence.

Nathalie swallowed back a pained gasp and tried to control her breathing. She must have grazed her knee while falling – and her arms trembled, failing to find enough purchase in the slick mud to push her upright.

“Nathalie.”

She saw a par of boots step into her field of vision – dirtied but otherwise brand new and well-made, and very familiar.

Nathalie took the gloved hand offered to her and let him pull her to her feet. Effortless, as if she weighted nothing at all.

His glove was covered in something dark and sticky. She did not think it was mud.

“ _Monsieur_ ,” Nathalie said.

Ever the gentleman, Gabriel Agreste took off his coat and tossed it around her shoulders. It was fastened with the butterfly pin – his family crest.

Shivering, Nathalie wrapped the fabric around herself.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked, very quietly and in French. “I told you to take a carriage. In fact, I gave you the money to do just that. Did you lose it?”

“No, I have it still,” Nathalie said. “Forgive me, _monsieur_. My sister needs it—”

Her sister left France to marry an Englishman. The letters she sent got increasingly desperate as her husband’s business began to fall under, until Nathalie decided to join her. She had made quite decent money as a governess, teaching French and etiquette to well-bred English boys and girls; and then a very handsome wage once she entered Lord Agreste’s employ. But Nicole’s children got sick and bills kept piling up.

Lord Agreste was staring down at her, eyes ice-cold. Nathalie let her gaze drop – only to realize that there was a dab of blood in the corner of his mouth, trickling down his chin—

Unhurried, the man pulled out a silk handkerchief and cleaned his face. Nathalie couldn’t stop staring at his mouth, and not for the usual reasons.

“You will spend the night at my manor,” he declared.

Nathalie nodded numbly.

***

The Agreste Manor was huge, dark, and empty. Nathalie washed in cold water and found a change of clothes. There was an abundance of them in Master’s workshop, along with painting and sculptures. The man was a versatile artist.

By the time she got back, Nooroo had a fire going. Then the butler bowed and left, leaving Lord Agreste in the throne-like chair he favoured, sipping red wine from a crystal goblet.

Or maybe it wasn’t wine. Maybe he wasn’t what she had thought he was.

Nathalie swallowed. Lord Agreste raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

“You are an intelligent woman, Nathalie,” he said. “Please do not tell me you never made the connection.”

She never saw him during the day. He looked young but didn’t act young, speaking of events long past as if they had only happened yesterday. She had never seen him eat—

Her heart hammered, cold sweat clamming her forehead.

Lord Agreste swirled the thick liquid in his goblet.

“You are safe here,” he said. “Safer with me than you were by yourself. Heavens, Nathalie—I should fire you for the stupidity alone.”

“ _Monsieur_ —”

“Spare me,” Lord Agreste said. “Rest, now. We will talk tomorrow evening.”

“Monsieur,” Nathalie managed. “Is that blood?”

Lord Agreste winced. “A palate cleanser, more like. Those were some truly vile—” he took note of Nathalie’s expression. “ _Rest_ , Nathalie.”

She felt the command settle deep in her bones. A will other than her own compelled her to walk upstairs, to a guest bedroom Nooroo had prepared for her.

“Did you know?” she asked, struggling to remain conscious.

There had always been something odd about the butler, but he was a kind, gentle soul. He smiled sheepishly at her and began snuffing out the candles in the room.

“I have served Master for a very long time,” he said. “Back when he and Lady Emilie were still human—”

_Emilie_. The woman from the portraits, too many portraits to count – golden-haired and green-eyed, with a smile that warmed Nathalie from within. She was too beautiful to have ever been real. On the rare occasions he mentioned her, Lord Agreste spoke with such reverence. Either she wasn’t of this world, or his love for her wasn’t.

Nooroo stood by the last candle, lost in memories.

“Illness almost took Lady Emilie,” he said. “Master was unable to help her in any other way.”

“You told me they separated,” Nathalie murmured, half-asleep.

“They are,” Nooroo said. “My lady never quite forgave Master. She remained in France with their son.”

And Gabriel Agreste came here, putting the La Manche channel between himself and his family—he came all the way to this cold, damp, wretched city—she supposed London was an appropriate place to nurse a broken heart.

“Good night, Nathalie,” Nooroo said.

With the last candle snuffed out, Nathalie was no longer able to resist the command she had been given.

She fell asleep.


End file.
